Evenings on Horseback
by paganpunk2
Summary: A tedious Chamber of Commerce luncheon turns into an evening of bonding when Bruce and Dick steal away to ride off into the sunset. No major warnings other than a fluff alert.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This will be a Bruce and Dick bonding piece, with horses. Uber fluffy, and with at least one circus-days flashback. It feels like it's going to be a three-parter, but you all know how good my muse is at making acorns grow into oaks without warning.**

**For those of you waiting for some more action, as soon as Camp Batman is wrapped up in a week or two we'll dive into 'Tectonic Doom,' the Dick and Tim adventure piece I promised. There will be plenty of mystery and danger mixed in with the bro-bonding, so stay with me! **

**Happy reading!**

* * *

It was barely four o'clock, but Dick had had about all he could take of schmoozing businessmen and their flirty debutante daughters for one afternoon. He'd only come to the Gotham's most exclusive country club because he'd sensed that Bruce's sanity might be at risk otherwise; now, however, it was his own state of mind that was in danger. The Chamber of Commerce luncheon had proved to be as banal and colorless as the billionaire had always complained that it was, and he couldn't stand another minute of it.

Fortunately the older man could read him like a neon billboard. When their eyes next met across the crowded room, Bruce sent him a permissive nod, and Dick fled in as unobtrusive a manner as he could. Still carrying his glass of champagne, he crossed the wide, abandoned deck and skipped down the steps to a flawless lawn. The sounds of the gala going on in the air-conditioned ballroom faded, leaving him alone with the mid-summer heat and the distant calls of a pair of unengaged caddies.

He meandered towards the trees in search of a little shade. A gravel walkway intercepted him at the edge of the foliage, enticing him to follow it to a tastefully signposted crossroads. Tennis courts, the golf clubhouse, a restaurant, a pool, a Japanese-style spa, and a boating lake all tempted him, but it was the notice at the very bottom that caught his attention. "Horses," he murmured, raising his sweating flute to his lips to sip. "Wouldn't mind seeing some of those..."

The stables were listed as being a half mile away, but he shrugged off the humidity and headed out at a slow, swinging pace. For a moment he thought of Bruce, who would be looking for him sooner or later. Then he recalled the bevy of women and hopeful associates that had been flocking around the man and sighed in pity. Gotham's king of business wouldn't escape as easily as he had, he knew. If there was one thing he could count on having, it was time for a stroll.

Seeing no point in rushing things, he took the path at his leisure. A few people passed in the opposite direction, some in uniforms, some in outfits that defined them as members of the city's upper crust. The employees greeted him courteously; the polo-clad elite, on the other hand, tossed him looks that ranged from interest to scandal. Perhaps, he reflected, there was some rule against drinking outside of designated areas...if there was, though, the staff was doing a terrible job of enforcing it. Besides, it was a victimless crime, as persons under sixteen weren't allowed through the gates and no one over that age whose parents belonged to an exclusive resort like this one were likely to be strangers to alcohol.

Golf links opened up to the left of him as the path made a gentle ninety-degree arc. Having no interest whatsoever in the sport, he pressed on, intent on his destination. The further from the front of the complex he grew the narrower the way became, dropping from something that could accommodate a bus to a canopied lane suitable for romantic rendezvous. A few flies buzzed in the cooler air, keeping him company as he traveled. Just as the last of his now-warm champagne slid down his throat, he emerged at the base of a pastured hillside and paused.

_...Now that's what I'm talking about,_ a smile slipped across his lips as he took in the dozen or so horses that dotted the fields. Moving straight past the low buildings where a few people could be heard working, he approached the first wooden fence and stopped to watch the handsome forms grazing in the paddock. To his surprise, one lifted its head and studied him. Their gazes locked, and a minute later Dick found himself face-to-face with the creature.

"Well, hello," he said, amused. "Friendly pony, are we?" A low neigh answered him, and the animal extended its neck towards his pockets. "Sorry, buddy," he apologized as he pulled his hands free and wiggled his fingers. "No snacks, see?" There was a disappointed-sounding chuff. "Can I pet you anyway, do you think? Yeah?" Hot breath breezed across his palm as he held it under the velvety nose. "See, I'm okay. Just a friend. There we go..." His fingers brushed against the sleek gray neck, and his grin grew. "That's not so bad, huh?"

Despite his lack of treats, the horse seemed content to let him stroke it as long as he wanted. He could have stood there and held a one-sided conversation all night had they not been interrupted by the arrival of a third party. "Hey, you," he greeted the new arrival, a buckskin-colored stallion that nipped at him as soon as he shifted to introduce himself. "Not as nice as your pal here, huh? That's okay; I'm not going to get all up in your bubble. See?" he moved back and continued to pet the first animal. "No harm. Just niceness."

Before he could lament not having horse-flesh under both of his palms, a medium-brown specimen sidled up on the other side of the gray that was still enjoying his attention. "What's your name?" he queried as his newest acquaintance hesitated and considered him from alongside its compatriot's flank. At the sound of his address, it took one more step and sniffed at the hand he was petting with. "I'm okay," he promised. "If you want to come a little closer, I'll touch you too. What do you think about that?"

A complacent snort came from the first horse. Dick could only assume that it had been a positive opinion of him, because the third animal closed the gap immediately afterward. Setting his empty glass atop the nearest fence post, he extended his second arm. "...You see what you're missing out on?" he asked the standoffish member of the equine trio. "If you change your mind, I've got plenty of love for everyone."

A high-pitched whinny sounded from nearby, and was followed by the pounding of eager hooves. Suddenly a fourth head, this one belonging to a coal-black colt, shoved its way between the shoulders of One and Three. Three stood his ground, but One shuffled over good-naturedly. Two simply turned away and gave his attention to a nearby clump of grass. "Ahh...I've only got two hands, little one," Dick frowned. "Well, let's try this..."

Bringing his fingers down off of the first horse that had greeted him, he offered them to the smallest of the group. For an instant it seemed that he would be snapped at again, but the young one wasn't as antisocial as Two had been and lowered his lips after a few taunting nibbles. "Just a big softie after all, huh? Yeah," he murmured as he began to rub Four's neck. "Sorry, friendly. Hope you don't mind waiting a minute for some more affection."

One turned out to be patient, and stood by until it was his turn again. Dick had no idea how much time had passed when Bruce came up behind him, but he didn't stop petting just because he once again had a human being to talk to. "...Hey."

"Hey." The man appeared in his peripheral vision, his tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. "Thought you might need these," a bundle of carrots was offered.

"Sweet!" Accepting them, Dick offered one to each horse in turn. "I take it that these were _not_ the complimentary gifts from the Chamber party?" he joked. "Hey, quit that, you snot," he added as Four tried to steal Three's snack. "Here, here's yours. Dork."

"No," Bruce chuckled, "they weren't. There were several fashionable young ladies who would have been happy to give you their numbers as a present, though. I think you might have broken some hearts when you vanished."

"Give it a day or two, they'll get over me. Their grandmothers will remind them that I used to be a lowly cop and that I'm not technically a Wayne to boot, and the fragile pedestals they've put me on will crumble."

"...If that hadn't come out so bitter, Dick, I'd think you were trying your hand at poetry."

"I didn't mean it to be bitter. Not at you, at least. Just at them. My name shouldn't matter, and neither should my money, or yours. What should matter," he went on as he knelt down and tried to coax Two to come back to the fence for a carrot, "is that I like animals more than I like people some days. You'd think at least a few of them would be of the same mind, you know?"

"Mm...maybe they are, and just don't know how to show it yet. If you got to know them a little better before you ran off, you might meet someone who surprises you."

He craned his head to look over his shoulder. "Have any of them ever surprised you, Bruce?" he arched an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.

"...No. But that's not my point. You don't let them get to know you."

"You're right. I should follow your example and really bare my soul to them."

Bruce sighed. "Dick, you didn't have to come."

"I know. I wanted to come. I wanted to come for one of the few rich people I've ever met who gave a damn about me even when all of the masks were off. And I'm sorry I skipped out early, but to be fair there wasn't a whole lot I could do to help after the mayor's wife got her claws in you." Finally, _finally_, Two consented to step a little nearer. "...I'll tell you one thing I like about the well-funded, though."

"What's that?"

"They have gorgeous horses. There we go," he smiled as the standoffish beast accepted his peace offering. "Tasty, huh, buddy?"

"...I should have gotten you horses when you were younger. I don't know why I didn't think of it. Hell, I can't believe Alfred didn't suggest it."

Rising, Dick brushed a few pieces of grass from his knees. "You didn't think of it because you've never been an animal lover. Besides, when would I have had time to enjoy them? Not that I'm complaining about the things I was doing instead, don't get me wrong, but...really, when would I have?"

"You have a point. Still, I wish I'd done it."

There was real regret in the older man's tone, and Dick felt a trace of guilt for having led the conversation around to this point. It had been pure accident, but it had caused distress in the person whose welfare he cared for most in the world, and therefore it needed to be rectified. "You want to make it up to me?" he queried, an idea forming in his head.

"I'll buy you all the horses you could possibly want, but I don't know that you've got more time to ride them now than you did when you were younger."

"Don't buy me horses, Bruce. That would be silly for several reasons. But...you _could_ consent to ride them with me for a little while. If you didn't quaff too much bubbly to stay in the saddle, that is," he jested. "...What do you think?"

The billionaire looked at him for a long moment, then gave a short nod. "Okay."

"Really?" He'd expected some sort of excuse – he was too drunk, or Alfred was waiting, or _something_ – so hearing a simple yes caught him off guard. "You...you actually want to?"

"Yes. I do. Let's find someone to get us saddled and take a ride. The sun's setting; we might be able to see some stars along the way." He paused. "I might have blown my chance to buy you a horse when you were younger, chum, but that doesn't mean I'm going to miss an opportunity to make a memory with you on the back of one now."

"I...okay," Dick agreed, his lip trembling at the billionaire's sincerity even as excitement rose to course through his veins. "Then let's...let's find someone and get going." _Horseback riding with Bruce,_ he hummed to himself as they started towards the stables. _No one will ever believe me..._


	2. Chapter 2

"Excuse us," Bruce caught the attention of a fellow mucking out a stall.

"Yes, si-" The man's polite response cut off as he turned and saw to whom he was speaking. _"...Whoa._ Um...yes, Mister Wayne? How...how can I help you?"

"We'd like to take out a couple of your horses."

His tone suggested that he hadn't noticed the stable hand's discomfort, but Dick saw the faint crinkling around his eyes and knew better. It appeared every time someone in the service industry became flustered by his presence, and was the surest sign that he was just as off-put by the recognition as the minimum-wagers were. Thinking about it now, he was surprised that Bruce didn't take more incognito vacations. Leaving Gotham without her original protector for a few nights seemed like a small price to pay for not having to see people cringe because they were afraid they'd screw up while serving you.

"Ah...okay, sure. Let me...let me get Casey. He's the...the guy. For that. The guy for that. 'Scuse me..." Dropping his pitchfork, he scurried away.

"...I hate that," Bruce muttered when they were alone.

"I know. Sorry. Would it help if I talked to the next person? I don't have your reputation."

"What 'reputation'?"

"The reputation of being one of the richest, and therefore one of the most powerful, men in the world." He paused. "People don't connect me with your money. They know who I am, and maybe they think 'oh, he's got money,' but the power stigma isn't there for most of them. I'm fine with that, don't get me wrong; I'm just saying that they don't usually...well...recoil."

"Mm...you have a point, but let it be. It would look strange for me to instigate things and then go silent. I'll manage."

"Okay," Dick shrugged. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"You'll know." A new figure appeared from around the corner, wearing a laid-back smile as he approached. "Hello."

"Hello. I'm Casey, the stables manager. Chuck told me you're interested in taking a ride."

Bruce seemed to relax. Casey was clearly a man who was used to dealing with big-name guests, and the friendly-but-businesslike air he'd brought to the proceedings was welcome. "Yes," he nodded. "I assume there's paperwork associated with that?"

"Just a few liability things, unless you've ridden here before?"

"No. We haven't."

"Then just follow me, and we'll have you out on the trails in no time."

They signed and initialed everything as quickly as they could, eager to get out of the small, sweltering office. All three breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped back into the yard and headed towards the horses. "I saw you taking a look a while ago," Casey commented over his shoulder. "Did you see one you liked? It's been slow today, so any of them should be up for a jaunt."

"...Dick? You wanted that gray one, didn't you?"

He grinned, amused by the fact that he hadn't even had to say which horse he preferred for Bruce to know. "Yeah. The friendly one in this first section," he pointed.

"Ah, Django! He's popular, Django is. I'll warn you, though; he's friendly, but he's _fast_. He'll follow your commands if you just want to go slow, don't get me wrong, but if you're interested in stepping things up a bit, Django's your horse." A sharp, tonal whistle echoed over the hillside. Dick watched pensively as his chosen mount looked up, turned away from his grazing, and moved towards the gate. "Chuck should be out in just a second to get him saddled for you."

"Great," he answered, trying not to sound as lost in thought as he suddenly felt. "Thank you." _Django. Why did it have to be that? That's...that's too much of a coincidence..._

"And what kind of a ride are you looking for, Mr. Wayne?" Casey directed his attention to the billionaire. "Django's a good spectrum horse; he'll match pace with just about any other animal of ours you care to try out."

"...Do you have one that can match his speed?" Bruce asked after a moment's pause.

"Hmm..." Casey rubbed his chin. "Rider of your size...yeah, I've got one that can get close. You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

Dick was still caught up in his memory, but he saw the secret smirk that bolted across the older man's lips. "No, I don't suffer from that particular phobia."

"Good thing. The Duke's not exactly a midget. Chuck!" Casey called to the figure that had freed Django from his paddock. "Saddle up The Duke, too!" Once a wave had acknowledged his request, he swiveled back to face his customers. "You'll have to forgive the names; I'm a big fan of westerns. Django and The Duke...they're classics, you know? They're not half-bad horses, either," he joked.

_Oh, thank god._ Dick wanted to slump with relief, but he kept his shoulders straight as they marched back to the buildings. As strange as it was that his selection was called Django, he could live with it now that he knew why the name had been chosen. Django and Duke – _The__ Duke,_ he corrected himself – could just as easily have turned out to be homages to Casey's love of early twentieth century jazz as to Franco Nero and John Wayne, and had it turned out to be the first it would have been impossible for him to go on. _Just don't think about it, _he swallowed hard. _Just...just don't. It's nothing. There's no connection..._

Bruce nudged him and arched an eyebrow, but he shook his head. This wasn't the time or the place for a discussion of what had come over him. All he wanted to do was get out away from people and find someplace where they could have a few minutes to themselves. Then, maybe, he'd be able to explain.

"Okay," Casey clapped his hands together as they drew to a halt near a wall littered with tack. "Are you both experienced with horses, or do we need to go over the basics?"

"It's been a while, but I should be fine," the billionaire replied. "...Dick, you haven't spent much time riding, though."

The comment was enough to pull him partway out of his melancholic musing and drop him into a brighter recollection. "Actually," he managed a smile, "I probably have more recent practice than you do. There's a _reason_ I went out of my way to make friends with the guys in the mounted unit when I was a cop; free horse rides. Good company, too, but...mostly free horse rides."

"They let you do that?"

"Sure. All I had to do was offer to rub their horse down for them at the end of their shift in exchange for a little time out on their training grounds. Buying the first round when we all went out for a beer afterward never hurt anything, I'm sure. Anyway, I wasn't exactly the only patrolman who had an arrangement with the mounted officers." He shrugged. "It was fun. Good times."

"...Huh. Well, I guess we're good to go, then," Bruce told Casey.

"All right, great. In that case, I'll leave you with Chuck. If you need a mounting stool or anything, he can get it for you. A couple quick little things before you go, though. First, if you could have the horses back by eight-thirty, we'd appreciate it, and so would they," he chuckled. "Second, I'm supposed to tell you not to race. If you do and nothing goes wrong, well, I'm not going to say anything to anyone, but I have now officially advised you that the club would prefer you abstained. Good?"

"I think we can live with those rules," Bruce nodded.

"Have fun, then."

A short while later they were on their respective horses and had drawn away from the stables. "...Your's is pretty," Dick remarked as his body fell in line with Django's sway. "He looks like that little colt I was scratching when you came up." Indeed, the only noticeable difference between the two was that the adult bore a white star on its chest; other than that and their size difference, they were identical. "Makes me wonder if they're related. I don't think The Duke is neutered."

"You'd lose something if you gelded a horse named after John Wayne, don't you think?"

"Well, the horse certainly would."

"Heh. No kidding."

They rode in companionable silence for a distance, choosing dusty paths over well-maintained ones wherever they could in the hopes of preserving their solitude. It was only when they came to the small creek that fed the boating lake further down and stopped to let their perches drink that Bruce spoke again. "...You want to talk about whatever it was that had you tense back there?"

"...No. Not...not yet." It was still lurking at the rear of his consciousness, and he was sure it would come out sooner or later, but right now he wasn't ready. "Just...let me enjoy this for a while, okay? We can talk, but...not about that."

Django lifted his head from the stream, and The Duke followed suit. "Let's walk and talk," the billionaire suggested, urging his mount forward into the shallow water. Once they'd crossed, he went on. "You're still chasing Barbara, aren't you?"

Dick started. "...Jeez, you've got a dead-eye for sensitive topics tonight."

"My job."

"I know. And," he sighed, "you're not wrong. She can friend-zone me all she wants, Bruce, but I'm not giving up on her."

"'Friend-zone'...even knowing what you're referring to, it's still an odd phrase."

"That just means you're getting old."

"Ha, ha," the other man rolled his eyes as the path re-entered the trees. "...I'm glad you're holding out for her, chum," he confessed a minute later. "I'd prefer see you with someone and happy than waiting and...friend-zoned...but you've always been one to stick to your decisions up until the point that they become impossible. I'm not surprised that that hasn't changed, but I'm pleased that you set your sights on such a strong woman. A weaker one wouldn't last."

"Probably not. Unfortunately that strength is part of why she's so stubborn," he snorted, "but when I compare her to all those girls at the luncheon earlier, practically lining up to give me their numbers...well, you get what you pay for, in the end. Babs is worth the wait."

"So long as it works out eventually, I'm sure you're right."

"Eh. Even if it never works out, I'd rather be alone than spend the rest of my life married to any other woman I've ever met."

"Mm. Then you're doing the right thing."

Their conversation lapsed again, but the quiet between them was the comfortable kind that they often soaked in together. Just before the sun met the horizon they broke out of the woods and into a broad field. The dirt trail under their horses' hooves stretched out in a straight line down the middle of the opening before rising to climb a low hill,and Dick heard Bruce hum beside him. "...What?" he asked.

"I have an idea that might just take your mind off of girls and whatever else you're wrapped up in right now."

He didn't need clarification to know that a race was being proposed. "Thought we weren't supposed to do that," he smirked.

"We're not supposed to do lots of things, Dick. Racing horses, pining over women, spending nights away from home participating in questionable activities...the taboo changes depending on who you ask."

"Touché." He studied the track and spotted a sign, this one much more rustic than the posting that had led him into this evening to begin with, three-quarters of the way down. It was far enough away that the horses could get up to speed, but left enough room for them to slow down before the land rose. "To the sign?"

"Works for me." The billionaire adjusted himself in the saddle, preparing. Django and The Duke, sensing the shift in their riders' plans, both began to lift their feet one at a time as if they were stretching. Dick just smiled, gathered the reins, and leaned over the gray neck extending in front of him to give it a pat of encouragement.

"...Ready," he breathed without taking his eyes off the prize.

"Set," Bruce confirmed.

"_Go!_"

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**Author's Note: I promise full answers as to what Dick was musing over in the next chapter. Happy reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

"...Nice evening," Bruce murmured a little while later.

"Yeah," Dick sighed. After their neck-and-neck race – Django might have been faster by reputation, but The Duke had been spurred on by Bruce's determination – they had guided their mounts to the top of the hill and pulled them to a halt. There they had watched the last brilliant hues of the day die out and be replaced with ever-deepening shades of indigo, out of which a few stars were now emerging. Three-quarters of a full moon rose opposite them, promising to light their way back to the stables when the time came. Out here, away from artificial lights and with the heavens opening up overhead, he could almost pretend like he was eight years old again and everything was the way it had once been...

He drew a deep breath, pulling himself away from the edge of the rabbit-hole of memory for the moment. If he was going to fall into it, he was going to take Bruce with him, he determined; it was an abyss down there, and more importantly the man beside him deserved to hear the story. "...You wanted to know what I was thinking about earlier?"

Leather creaked, and he didn't have to look to know that the billionaire had turned towards him in his saddle. "Yes. You were so excited to do this, I could tell, but as soon as you heard your horse's name your attitude shifted. Why?"

"You know, I...I almost changed my mind back there," he confessed. "When Casey said that this guy," he stroked his horse's neck idly, "was named Django, and then said yours was named Duke...it was almost too much."

"But my horse is called _The_ Duke," Bruce reminded him, his frown audible in his tone.

"I know. That's all that saved it, I think. When Casey said he was an aficionado of westerns...Bruce, I thought he was a music lover. I thought Duke was Duke Ellington, and Django..." A lump formed in his throat. "I thought Django was a reference to Django Reinhardt."

"...Chum, I don't know who that is. Ellington, obviously, yes, but...Reinhardt?"

"Django Reinhardt..." He narrowed his eyes at the night as he tried to recall everything his father had told him two decades before. "Django Reinhardt was a Romani musician. A guitarist, in particular. He did things to jazz music that no one else had ever thought of, and it made him famous. He even came to the U.S. and played with Duke Ellington, which is part of why I thought maybe the names were purposeful.

"My father _worshipped_ Django," he whispered. "We had this little radio that mom had brought with her when she ran away from college with the circus, right? And for all that it hadn't been his to start with, I _know_ that that was dad's most treasured possession. Everywhere we went, every night when we stopped, he'd fiddle with it, trying to find a good jazz station in the vague hope that they would play something by Django, or even just something Django-inspired. He even had this list he'd made of all the stations in different towns he'd been to, divided up by ones he'd heard Django on before and those he hadn't. Every time he found a new set of numbers, he added it on there. I don't know how many times I watched him re-write it all. He kept it in his pocket, and it would get so beaten up, but he wanted it with him all the time.

"I remember how a couple of Christmases before they...before Zucco, mom and Pop Haly conspired to sneak that crumpled old piece of paper away from him. Dad was so upset when he couldn't find it – so upset that it made _me_ cry, I think – but mom didn't tip her hand. We didn't have much money that year, but...Pop took that list down to a printing shop, and he had them put all of those cities and call numbers on a little piece of laminated cardstock. When we woke up on Christmas morning, I knew dad was still sad, and was just trying to put on a cheerful face for me. But when he saw how shiny and strong his list had been made, and realized that now it wouldn't break down in his pocket so bad...well, he didn't have to fake being happy after that."

His voice dropped lower with emotion. "There was this one night, just...just a few weeks before I lost them. We were coming north for the season, and it was so cold out that we were all huddling in our trailers when we weren't working. Dad looked at his list, hoping there'd be something to take our minds off of the cold, and he found a local station that had played Django before. Then he turned the radio on, and there it was; we were in the middle of a three-hour special featuring Django Reinhardt and the Quintette du Hot Club de France. I think the only other time I'd ever seen dad look so happy was after I landed my first quadruple somersault. One Django song was a great occurrence, but a three-hour session...that was cause for celebration.

"He wanted to dance, and he wanted mom to dance with him, but where the hell were they supposed to do that in a tiny little trailer with an eight-year-old underfoot?" A small, sad laugh escaped him as he recalled how they had tried anyway, bouncing their hips and elbows off of the table and the counter in their exuberance. "...Eventually mom bundled me up, and we gave in and went outside. That little radio was stretched all the way to the end of its cord, balanced on the step so we could hear it outside. I sat next to it – I wanted to keep it safe – and I watched them, Bruce. I watched them dance for almost two hours, all the way until the program ended. They were so _alive_ that night, alive in a way I'd never seen them before.

"I'm so glad they had those two hours together," he said hoarsely. "I'm so glad that they danced, and I'm so glad that dad got to hear so much Django. It stayed with him for days afterward. He seemed to dance everywhere he went. Mom even teased him that he would twitch at night like he was dancing in his sleep. He always laughed, but...I like to think he really _was_ dreaming that way. I like to think that he was able to spend his last nights so happy."

He had to stop to swipe at his eyes and sniffle before he could continue. "Anyway...dad loved Django, and not just for his music. Dad loved Django's story, too. You see, Django was caught in a fire when he was eighteen. It killed his wife and paralyzed two of the fingers on his left hand – his playing hand – on top of a bunch of other injuries. The doctors told him he'd never play guitar again. He didn't listen, though. He pushed through it, and he learned to play with just the two fingers he still had, and _that's_ where they say the genius of his music came from. If he'd had all of his fingers to use, maybe he wouldn't have turned out to be such a genius. That was the best part of it all to dad. No matter how bad things got, he always said, we could push through it, survive and thrive, and be better than we were before the rough patch, just like Django."

The most painful aspect of his tale could no longer be avoided, and he gave a watery gasp before he dove into it. "That was what I kept telling myself after...after they fell. That I just had to...to do what Django had done and keep going, keep pushing. I didn't understand before that last night of their lives, but...sometimes, when we were alone and he was tucking me in, or if I was having a hard time with a new move, or if I had a scrape or I got sick, he'd brush my hair back, and he'd say his piece about being strong and working through it, and he'd call me Django like it was my name.

"He always said he didn't adhere to the old belief about giving babies a secret name at birth, known only to the naming parent and the child, but...he only ever called me that when we were alone. Normally it's the mother who gives a secret name, but...mom wasn't Romani. Maybe he figured it wouldn't mean the same to her, so he did it. I don't know. Either way, I think that was his secret name for me, and after they died I finally understood why he'd called me that above anything else. Not because he was prescient or anything, don't get me wrong, but because he knew there would be hardships in my life, as there are in every life, and he wanted me to be strong enough to ride them out. Even," a teary smile broke across his lips as he reached the end of his story, "if he wasn't around to remind me of the story of the man he'd secretly named me after."

For a moment after he finished the only sounds were the faint music of crickets from the woods that girded their hilltop perch. Even the horses stood stock-still and silent, perhaps sensing the seriousness of the atmosphere between their riders, perhaps just caught up in some equine daydream. Then Dick felt The Duke's side shuffle up against his leg, and a second later Bruce had pulled him gently over and into his shoulder. A strong arm squeezed across his back, and he was certain he felt tears drip from the older man's chin and onto his scalp.

"...Thank you for telling me that," a heartfelt murmur rumbled against his ear. "I know it hurt, chum, but...thank you."

"You-" he broke off to sniff again, "-you understand why I...I never told you before?"

"I do," a nod confirmed. "If it was his secret name for you, Dick, then it was entirely your right to keep it to yourself. I'm honored that you shared it with me at all."

"Well, if anyone deserves to know it, it's you. Of course under that logic I should have told you a long time ago, but..."

"The trigger wasn't there."

"Yeah. The...the trigger wasn't there. Not until tonight. Django's not exactly a popular name in these parts, and I avoid spaghetti westerns for a reason."

"You make a damn good Django," Bruce said firmly. "Better, maybe, than even the original."

"I'm no competition. My guitar skills are pathetic," Dick joked weakly.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know." With another sigh, he pulled back and straightened himself atop his horse. "It's funny," he mused, "but...there was something else dad used to say about Django. He'd get really excited about something I'd done well, right, and he'd say...he'd say that if the first Django could go from being a dirt-poor entertainer growing up in a trailer to playing Carnegie Hall with Duke Ellington, then _his_ Django could go twice as far. We started in the same place, Django and I, and now...well...now I get to spend nights swinging through Gotham with Batman. I don't know how dad would feel about it, but to me that's worth at _least_ twice as much as going to Carnegie Hall, even with as talented a musician as Duke Ellington."

"No one can ever rightly accuse you of falling short of your fathers' dreams for you, Dick," Bruce said softly.

"...Yeah?" he asked shakily.

"...Yeah, chum."

"Good. I'm glad."

They sat without speaking after that, admiring the ever more plentiful stars and letting the gentle evening breeze dry their cheeks. Dick felt the lightness that comes only after one has shared a private piece of themselves with another and had it be unconditionally accepted, and he reveled in it for as long as he could.

"It's eight o'clock," Bruce said eventually. "We should head back soon, if you're ready."

"I'm..." It was still so perfect out here, in this warm version of that long-ago night when two laughing lovers had danced together to strains of Django atop frosty, crackling grass, but not even perfect moments could last forever. "I'm ready," he decided. "...Let's get these guys back home on time."

"Lead the way."

* * *

Casey took their steeds back gratefully and did his duty by inviting them to ride again some other time. He offered to drive them back to the entrance in a cart, but they declined, preferring to steal a few more minutes for themselves in the cool darkness that had settled over the land. Just before they entered the trees that would block the stables from view, Dick glanced back to see Django being led to his stall and wondered what exactly a membership cost per annum. Then he shook his head, laughing silently at himself. _A Rom with a country club membership?_ _Now __that's__ a Carnegie Hall-level achievement._

They'd come in a convertible, but Bruce put the top up to keep the bugs out until they were off of the slow back roads that led away from the complex. Dick leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, drained by his long remembrance. He only opened them when, three or four turns into their drive home, jazz began to spill from the speakers. It wasn't Django, but it wasn't bad, and he smiled to soothe the hesitant look on the older man's face. "Good choice," he nodded.

"I assume that this isn't him?"

"No. Or if it is, it's a song I either never heard or forgot about. I didn't...I didn't really keep up on listening to him after...after. Other artists, sure, but Django was just too painful." He paused. "...I ought to fix that, maybe."

"Don't push it too hard too fast, chum. That was a hell of a memory you had back there."

"I know. It...it feels right, though. It didn't before, but...I don't know." He shrugged noncommittally, but his resolve was firming with every passing curve. "It can't hurt to test the limits a little, I guess. Besides," a faint grin crossed his lips, "it gives me an excuse to take up Babs' time at work. Finding something on Django Reinhardt...how much could there be, even in Gotham's library system? I'm guessing not much, since you didn't even know who he was."

"Mm. Probably not much, no."

"Good. Then she'll be stuck with me for at least ten or fifteen minutes. And she won't even be able to complain."

Bruce chuckled, then became silent once more. They reached the freeways that would take them around the city and up into the hills amongst which the manor sat, and as their speed picked up one of them – Dick would never be able to remember who it was – turned up the music. The sky was invisible above the glare of the streetlights, but it was okay now; all he had to do to see the stars was close his eyes, picture his parents dancing, and drift on the music.

They were about to turn onto the long, sweeping driveway when the melody dimmed in his ears. "...What's up?" he asked, pushing back the light doze he'd been about to pass into.

"I need to ask you a question."

"Okay."

"The manager of the country club was at the luncheon today. He said it was a shame that I wasn't a member."

"That's an original pitch," he snorted.

"Maybe not. But he had a point." The billionaire paused. "If you won't let me buy you horses, Dick, at least let me rent them for you."

"...Bruce, what are you talking about? What would you do with a country club membership, seriously?"

"Not much," he acknowledged. "...Except occasionally tag along with you for a trail ride."

"You're serious," Dick gaped. "You...you're really considering this?"

"It _is_ odd that a mover and shaker of my weight, particularly one with children of marriageable age, doesn't have a membership at a place like that. I wouldn't have given that _too_ much weight, necessarily, but...you liked those horses. To be honest, I liked them too. It won't cost anything, at least not in the big picture, it will be good for my reputation, and it will give you easy access to something that makes you happy. Hell, Tim and Damian might find something there to enjoy, too. Who knows? My point is that with all of those things in the 'pros' column, how can I _not_ sign up?"

"...Huh. Well...you're not going to get any further argument from me, Bruce. I mean, to be able to just go and take Django for a ride whenever...that would be a heck of a thing. And I could probably get Timmy out on that lake they have in a boat. He wouldn't mind that too much; he'd be able to say he was being social when it would really just be the two of us. Dami...I'd like to get that kid on a horse. If he doesn't like that, I can always drag him to the tennis courts and tell him to lob balls at me as hard as he can." If he played his cards right, he schemed, he might even be able to get Jason on the program. It would have to be a secret – his brother would require that much, he was certain – but if he could get him out alone, who knew where the conversation might lead?

"That sounds like a dangerous proposition, but I'll trust that you know what you're doing on that count. You seem to have a better clue about him than I do half the time, so..."

"Aw, Dami's okay. He's like that little colt earlier; he bites at you at first, but once he knows you're there to rub his ears and feed him carrots he softens right up. That was a metaphor, by the way," he smirked. "Try rubbing Dami's ears or sticking carrots in his face and you probably _will_ get bitten."

"I wasn't planning on attempting that method, trust me. So...yes, though? You like the idea?"

"...I have just one condition I need to impose before I give my wholehearted approval."

"That being?" Bruce cocked an eyebrow as they crunched to a stop at the base of the front steps.

"At least once a month, you and I take Django and The Duke for a good, long walk to look at the stars." He stuck out his hand. "Deal?"

"...Deal," the billionaire shook. Just before he released him, he squeezed his fingers. "I'm looking forward to it, chum."

"Me, too. I, uh...I promise I'll try not to cry all over you on future outings."

"It's okay. And Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"...Your name's safe with me. I don't believe in magic names any more than your father professed to, but that doesn't mean that I can't appreciate the perceived power behind them. My lips are sealed."

Dick had to bite his lip to keep fresh tears at bay. "...Thanks, dad."

"You're welcome, son. Now...I think I might skip patrol tonight and focus on some files. Are you up for that, or are you going out?"

"So long as Alfred still lets us have cookies, I can be content with files for one night." He wanted to go out, but he had the feeling that he'd keep staring at the stars, and that would defeat the point.

"I think we can wrangle some out of him. Let's go see, huh?"

"Yeah," he laughed. "Let's do that."

They stepped from the car, and Dick stood for a second to appreciate the partial moon that he could once again see. _I got so lucky, dad,_ he thought. _First I had you, and now I have Bruce. Any kid would be incredibly lucky to have just one of you as their father, but I got to have you both. I don't know how I managed that kind of fortune, but...I'm grateful that I did. And don't worry; Bruce is worthy of your secret. He's the best keeper of them that I know, and this one...I get the feeling that there might only be one or two higher than it in his vault, even if he really doesn't believe in secret names. _

_Until I awake again, –_ he smiled as he turned to go inside, for 'I awake' was the meaning of his secret name and he'd been unable to avoid the pun – _good night, dad._

* * *

**Author's Note: I know some of you were hoping for whumpage in this chapter, but that just wasn't the way the muse wanted to go. However, I will turn out some this week in 'Summer Shorts,' so watch for that.**

**If anyone is interested in Django Reinhardt, check out my latest blog post. **

**Thanks for coming with me on this ride. I hope you all enjoyed it. Happy reading!**


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